


Beauty In Simplicity

by Reapers-Carino (SweetKimchii)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, F/M, Hostess Reader, Love at First Sight, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Pretty Woman References, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Starstruck, The Yakuza Prince falls in love with a commoner, Yakuza, Yakuza Genji Shimada, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada, hostess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 11:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11012142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetKimchii/pseuds/Reapers-Carino
Summary: Elegance. Opulence. Brilliance.Club Rosebud knew and fully accepted what it was at base level, a hostess club. But within her perfumed and well-furnished walls, there was an air of class and luxury that rivaled no other. From the Vishkar commissioned building and decorated interior to the lavishly stocked bar and kitchen and the variety of personalized sitting and conference rooms, the Rosebud prided itself on being a cut above the rest. The ladies, or Roses as they were so affectionately known within the club walls, came from an array of backgrounds and possessed an array of personalities that could fit any of their clienteles need.If anyone had told Hanzo Shimada, however, a Rose would have captured his attention he would have called the messenger daft. As heir to the Shimada-gumi, one of the largest Yakuza factions in the Tokyo metropolitan area, he was no stranger to pleasure of the flesh. But intimacy? Love? That would be something completely new.





	Beauty In Simplicity

It was much too early.

 

Twisting your wrist you glanced at the time as it projected itself an inch above your skin, grimacing slightly at the time. ‘0714’. Carding a hand through your hair you couldn’t help the soft sigh that tumbled from your lips, the soft click-clacking of your heels against the concrete sidewalk picking up. This was ridiculously early for you. If Ayane hadn’t called you with this ‘urgent favor’, you had no doubt you would still be wrapped up in your comforter, dead to the world until 10 AM at the earliest. The older woman, who you affectionately referred to as mamasan, was your boss and dear friend but you swore that as soon as you made it to the club you were going to have a talk about your ‘business hours’. Still, you couldn’t be upset with her, it appeared that a ‘special’ client had reserved an early trial meeting and she wanted her ‘best girl’ there. Her flattery worked, obviously, pulling you out of your bed and sending you down the road towards the coffee shop on the corner before catching a cab to Roppongi. 

 

She had kept details scant, as was normal, not wanting any prying ears to possibly pick up anything over ‘unsecure lines’. The patrons of the club valued their privacy and every girl that worked there as well as mamasan were more than happy to comply. Club Rosebud was a members only club that served the elite; politicians, CEOs, oyabun of the upper crust yakuza families, military leaders and the like. As long as they paid their dues, respected the ladies and didn’t become  _ too  _ disrespectful or belligerent, they would always be welcomed back with open arms. The building itself was discreet; a Vishkar commissioned project, sleek and modern with solid black privacy glass covering the outside. Ayane had balked at the thought of subscribing to the neon signs that often decorated the hostess and nightclubs in the area, instead vying for a hologram that projected the name in stylish cursive and katakana,  hard light roses and petals constantly falling down and onto the sidewalk. It was chic yet discreet, beautiful and classy; the exact image mamasan wanted to convey and what kept their clients both happy and impressed. 

 

Club Rosebud location was a calculated decision on Ayane’s part, a street that existed an arms length away from the hustle and bustle of downtown, yet close to several embassies and five star hotels. The street was fairly calm; wide sidewalks leading to high-end cafes and bistros and a small two-lane road that had a small side lane that cars could take directly to the front of Rosebud. A side street led to a private entrance for those that required it, although it was most often used by the women that worked there as a quicker way to the back. This is where you often entered the club and where you were headed that morning. 

 

Lifting your wrist to the panel next to the door, you hummed idly as you waited for your credentials to be verified, the small security pad turning blue before the door slid open smoothly. You barely paid any mind to the environment around you as you moved through the warmly lit hall, continuing the softly hummed song as you made a beeline towards the back. The art deco theme left the place brightly colored and yet tied together with dark walls or decor, seating plush and comfortable and inviting. A long bar was attached to a door that led to the kitchen, the different bottles of high-shelf liquor on the wall looking like twinkling gems. There were private rooms, of course, with varying themes; Japanese-style tea rooms, traditional conference rooms, hell, there was even a small private theater. Anything the clients needed, Ayane wanted to be able to provide. 

 

You carried on past them, walking through a door that was affectionately marked ‘Roses’ Only’, signifying an employee only area. A little ways down was another door that led to the dressing rooms; a pastel explosion of a room that was fitted with a dozen pearlescent white vanities, soft lighting and two dozen or so rolling racks filled to the brim with clothing from designer clothing from all over the world. Tucking your purse underneath your personal space, you sighed as you sank into the soft pink skirted vanity chair, stretching before crossing your legs. 

 

‘Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster’- Sun Tzu.

 

The quote from the great Chinese philosopher sat permanently affixed to the mirror of your vanity, a silent reminder of your life’s philosophy. You jokingly would tell the other girls you worked with that you were preparing for a battle; dressing yourselves in fine silks and chiffons like they were armor, your warpaint high-end cosmetics, your simplistically intricate hairstyles your helmet. The war ground is one that you had fought proudly on for years and would continue to do so for however long your spirit compelled you to, the battle of courtesans and their wealthy, upper class clientele. 

 

Your battle hardened statements were all in jest, of course, but you enjoyed the playful distance it allowed you to practice whenever you entered the club. You were skilled at your job and you knew what was both wanted and demanded of you. An amicable warmth, lively conversation, class and professionality, charm and attractiveness all wrapped into a package with a pretty little bow. You were fortunate. Within the walls of the club and the mouths of patrons and advertisers, you were sought after not only for your beauty and charisma but your intellect as well, known for being demurely scintillating. For now, however, you worked on accentuating the beauty that was seen before the brain, primping in front of the vanity in the changing room. 

 

You kept your vanity clean and tidy, makeup neatly stored away and sorted in a deep blue makeup case, your hard light styling multi-tool laid across the top of it. Assorted hairsprays, perfumes, brushes, accessories and jewelry were scattered, albeit tidily across the back of your small table. A place for everything and everything in its place. Your fingers moved over your items in a practiced manner, humming softly to yourself as you considered the look you were trying to go for this afternoon.  Bold, glittering neon matte lips had become popular recently, appearing on magazines and in talk shows but you felt that it was much too flashy, at least for the client mamasan had assigned you. Your look had to be perfect, demure and respectful, enticing and seductive. Chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek, you visualized several looks before opening your eyes and looking at your reflection. You had an idea.

 


End file.
